The Lost Colonist
by Infinity Complex
Summary: He was not always the United States of America, or even the American Colonies. Once, he was just Alfred F. Jones, a little boy from the Lost Colony of Roanoke…
1. The Prologue

**A/N: There are extensive notes explaining the historic references at the end of each chapter. The bold numbers at the end of the paragraphs each relate to one of those explanations, and the story will probably make more sense if you refer to them as you read. (Highlight the paragraph you are currently reading, scroll down to the bottom of the chapter without clicking again, read the endnote, scroll back up to the highlighted paragraph, and continue on your merry way.)**

**The other chapters are longer (I should know, as I have already written them), and I will update every weekend. Also, I took all of the colonists' names from the actual list of the colonists of Roanoke, so these are not OCs, they are historical figures.**

**Please note that Alfred F. Jones is America's human name. And 'Elyoner' is the old English spelling of 'Eleanor', and thus should be pronounced like its modern counterpart. Also, I do not own Hetalia. **

* * *

"**The Lost Colonist"**

_He was not always the United States of America, or even the American Colonies. Once, he was just Alfred F. Jones, a little boy from the Lost Colony of Roanoke…_

**The Prologue**

**May 1588**

"Still no word from White," Dyonis Harvye yelled loudly, effectively halting the bickering going on within the large, single-room building. **(1)**

Suddenly, the rest of the assembled colonists roared to life once again, eager to state their own responses to Bailie's statement, both positive and negative.

"He's just going to get supplies," Ananias Dare quickly came to his father-in-law's defense. "He'll be back soon enough." **(2)**

"He shouldn't have left in the first place. As the governor of Roanoke Colony, the least he could do is _be present_," another man, Thomas Stevens, spoke up.

"We've no idea what's happening across the Atlantic, there might be a legitimate reason as to why he hasn't returned yet," John Sampson called.

"Like what?" the question came from an unidentified person in the crowd.

"Like…" Sampson paused to think, "The Spanish Armada attacking England."

"As if that'd ever happen," Rodger Prat replied with a darkly amused chuckle, "I say he abandoned us."

"Quiet, all of you!" Elyoner Dare was obviously upset, and Ananias quickly went over to comfort his wife. "My father's a decent man who'd never abandon his colony or his granddaughter," she clutched at her daughter, Virginia Dare, who was currently suffering from an unknown cold. **(3, 4)**

"Do either of you have anything to add, Manteo, Wanchese?" Christopher Cooper addressed the two Native Americans sitting quietly in the back of the room. **(5, 6)**

At this, everyone present turned to face the two dark skinned natives, eager to hear what they had to say.

Wanchese remained silent, while Manteo added cryptically in accented English, "Have patience. The truth shall be revealed in time."

* * *

**September 1588**

"Griffen, Griffen! You simply_ must_ see this!" Jane Jones exclaimed, excitedly attaching herself to her husband's arm and bouncing on the balls of her toes. The man could not help the way his smile suddenly appeared when he caught sight of his wife's own wide grin, not in the least bit annoyed by her energetic behavior.

"What is it, dear?" he asked warmly, ignoring the man he was conversing with in favor of watching the woman's smile grow even larger. Jane spun around enthusiastically and proceeded to drag her unusually tall husband in the direction of their hut.

"Sorry, John. Maybe another time!" he called over his shoulder as his wife's unrelenting gait dragged him further and further away.

"Don't fret about it, we'll continue tomorrow," John Cotsmur shook his head. Jane Jones was a special sort of woman, having held onto that energetic, childish spirit within her despite being well into adulthood. She quickly endeared herself to everyone she met, and within the first hour of knowing her one would become used to her childish antics, and come to learn that this sort of a happening occurred rather frequently.

**~ C R O ~**

"Alright, Jane," Griffen stopped right in front of the door to their cottage, "what is it that has you so excited?"

"It's our son," she answered with enthusiastic nodding.

"And what about him?" he pressed.

"Oh, it's wonderful, marvelous, amazing! And you have to discover it for yourself."

The tall man sighed – if she wanted to keep a secret then there was simply no getting information out of his wife – and made his way into their home, careful not to hit his head on the doorframe as he entered.

The woman was already holding the sleeping baby boy, barely a year old, in her arms, and her husband went to stand beside her.

"He has your hair," Griffen said, motioning to the golden blond tresses hidden under her bonnet.

"But he has your eyes," the woman said it softly, barely above a whisper, "I've never seen such a brilliant shade of blue anywhere else."

As if on queue, those sky blue eyes opened, nearly identical to the father's, and the young child began energetically tugging on his mother's blouse.

"Good morning, sleepy head!" Jane exclaimed, smiling even wider and laughing along with her son. Griffin was reminded of the similarities between the two when he saw how their brilliant smiles were so similar.

"Now," she said, "do you have something you want to say to your father?"

There was a moment of silence, where he looked at his mother with a confused expression, Jane held her breath, and Griffin waited in anticipation for whatever had gotten his wife so excited. Then, the baby boy broke out into a huge smile once again.

"Engwand!" the baby squealed with a smile, clapping his hands together twice. "Engwand, engwand, engwand!" he continued in his repetition.

"His first word," Jane said proudly.

Griffen smiled a watery smile at that, hoisting his son up into the air before bringing him back down to his chest and holding him close, leaning in to whisper something to the boy.

"_I'm so proud, Alfred."_

_

* * *

_

**Historic Notes:**

**A Very****Brief History of Roanoke Colony**** – The "Lost Colony" was the second colony to be located in Fort Raleigh on Roanoke Island in present day North Carolina, which was at the time considered to be part of Virginia. The second colony was established in 1587, the expedition being led by its governor, John White. However, after dropping off the colonists and staying with them for ten months to make sure they would be okay, he returned to England with the ships the settlers had arrived on. He had the purest intensions in doing so, planning on getting supplies for the settlers, but was kept from returning because all the ships in England were being used to fight off the Spanish Armada. When he finally returned three years later in 1590, the entire settlement had been deserted. The houses had deteriorated due to obvious abandonment, but the wall surrounding the settlement remained intact, with the single word "CROATOAN" carved in the fortifications, and the letters "C R O" carved into a nearby tree. Though John White wanted to stay and search for the colonists, an impending hurricane prevented him from doing so. He returned to England, leaving the real story of what happened to the Lost Colony to remain a mystery forevermore.**

**1. ****John White**** – an artist as well as being the governor of the Fort Raleigh, he left to get supplies for the colony and returned to find the settlement abandoned.**

**2. ****Ananias Dare**** – the father of Virginia Dare, the husband of Elyoner/Eleanor Dare, and John White's son-in-law as well as one of his assistants.**

**3. ****Elyoner Dare**** – also Eleanor Dare, I simply opted to use the old English spelling seen in the original list of Roanoke colonists. She was the daughter of John White, and decided to join him on the expedition despite being pregnant when she left for America. She gave birth to a daughter within the first ten days of landing on Roanoke Island.**

**4. ****Virginia Dare**** – the daughter of Elyoner/Eleanor Dare and Ananias Dare, and the granddaughter of John White. She was born within the first ten days of landing on Roanoke Island, and claims the title of the first English child to be born in the Americas.**

**5. ****Manteo**** – a Native American from a friendly tribe called Croatoan, which inhabited a nearby island of the same name. In 1584 there was an expedition to scout out land for an English colony in the Americas, and Manteo decided to return to England with the explorers. While in England and as a colonist in the first Roanoke Colony, he learned the language and the culture of the English. He once again joined a colonization expedition when he decided to become a translator and peacekeeper between the Native Americans and the settlers in the second colony of Roanoke. **

**6. ****Wanchese**** – another Native American in the same position as Manteo; some sources say he is the Chief of the Croatoan tribe, but he has not been characterized this way here because these claims have not been proven..**


	2. The First Chapter

**A/N: I shall be updating weekly, and you can expect each chapter to be 2000-3000 words long (excluding the prologue). The **_**Very Brief History of the Lost Colony of Roanoke **_**was in the previous chapter, at the beginning of the historic notes, so go back and read it if you need to. Once again, read the historic notes as you go. An explanation of how to do so was included in the author's note at the beginning of the last chapter.**

**Thank you to all my reviewers: YOU ROCK!**

**Please note that Alfred F. Jones is America's human name. And 'Elyoner' is the old English spelling of 'Eleanor', and thus should be pronounced like its modern counterpart. Also, I do not own Hetalia. **

* * *

"**The Lost Colonist"**

_He was not always the United States of America, or even the American Colonies. Once, he was just Alfred F. Jones, a little boy from the Lost Colony of Roanoke…_

**The First Chapter**

**December 1588**

"The winters are rather warm here," Lewes Wotton mused, drawing his coat closer around his body despite the previous statement.

"They're still cold enough to keep the crops from growing," Clement Taylor said in return, noting how his companion's face seemed more hollowed than it had a few weeks ago.

"I suppose," came the reply.

"I suppose?" he looked at the one who opened the conversation with an incredulous expression. "Already, twenty-one have died from starvation!"

"Well, yes, but it's common knowledge that the savages are keeping their food stores from us, and not because of a crop shortage."

"Aye, and they're openly attacking us as well," a cynical sneer came with the grim reply. "Now we can only rely upon the mother country for our supplies…"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Wotton," Elyoner Dare greeted them as she walked by. She was obviously thinner than she should have been, but still possessed the graceful beauty she was known for.

"The same goes to you, Mrs. Dare," Clement said.

"And how fares Virginia?" Lewes continued the conversation where the other had left off.

"Not well," the beautiful lady's face turned grim, "she has lost all her baby-fat, her bones jut out in an unsightly way, and she remains so thin no matter how much we feed her."

Elyoner sighed. "It's almost as if she's taking the colony's suffering upon her shoulders."

* * *

**March 1589**

"Alfred. ALFRED!" Ambrose ran after the boy as quickly as she could while weighed down by her many layers of heavy petticoats and the unbearable heat they created, hoping to catch him before they moved even deeper into the swampy field and both found their clothes irreparably soiled.

But it was too late, the thirteen-year-old girl realized, because as she took her next step her foot slipped into a deep hole filled with mud. She pulled it back, wincing in disgust at the 'sploosh' sound the movement made as she retreated to dryer land.

That was how Alfred found his babysitter: leaning up against a tree with a frightening scowl on her face, desperately trying to shake as much mud off her foot as possible. Of course, the two year old was oblivious to this, ignoring it just as he ignored his own sludge covered state.

Instead, he happily bounded up to the preteen girl, smiling and laughing, eager to show her the spoils of his adventure. She, on the other hand, did not seem pleased at all, instead screaming at the sight of what the little boy held in his hands.

"Get that _toad_ away from me!" She shrieked.

The toad in Alfred's hands was obviously startled, as the green and blown splotched amphibian quickly darted into the marsh and away from the two children.

"Fwoggy run away," the blue-eyed boy said sadly, reaching out as if to try and retrieve his animal friend once more and paying absolutely no mind to his obviously troubled caretaker.

"Serves you right," she replied sharply, "for shoving that nasty _thing_ in my face."

The toddler's lip wobbled a bit, and his eyes were becoming watery.

"Do not be upset. He is still very small, and does not know better," the voice obviously belonged to a man no older than thirty, but still sounded wise and all-knowing – the voice of a person that had seen all the world had to offer.

"Manny!" the boy cried, his tears completely forgotten. He ran towards the darker skinned man standing at the edge of the marsh, and looking rather out of place in his European style clothing. He was welcomed with open arms, both laughing happily as the blond child was swung around by the older, taller man.

"Ambrose," he greeted, walking up to the girl with Alfred in his arms.

"Manteo," she opted to use the man's true name instead of the nickname Alfred had given him, returning the Croatoan Tribesman's salutation with a small curtsey.

The man's eyes traveled downward, to her mud caked stockings and shoes, then up to her face and the embarrassment and guilt residing in her expression. His eyebrows rose when it dawned on him: she expected to be punished for getting her clothes dirty.

"Let us clean your clothes at the fort," he said with a gentle smile, holding out the hand of his free arm for the girl to take. She nodded vigorously, realizing that he was giving her a chance to clean her clothes before being spotted by her mother and chastised for the state of her dress. The child gratefully took the hand that the Native American had offered, and they headed back to Fort Raleigh.

**~ C R O ~**

"Ginna!" Alfred happily called the toddler only a few days older than him, Virginia Dare, by her nickname, trying his best to climb out of Manteo's stern hold as soon as he caught sight of her.

"Do not struggle, or you shall fall," the Native American spoke with obvious amusement as the blond boy _did _nearly fall out of his grasp. He set the two-year-old down on the ground before he managed to succeed in climbing away and possibly injured himself in the process.

As soon as he hit the ground, the toddler took off running to greet the girl with the native not far behind, and enveloped her in a crushing hug.

"Alfie!" the girl cried merrily in return once she was released from her friend's hold, before darting away and having Alfred chase her.

Manteo smiled as he watched the two young children run about the settlement, squealing happily as they did so. The youngest Dare still looked sickly and malnourished, but she was a child and deserved to live and play as one would. His smile saddened when Virginia's playful yelps and calls descended into a rather grim fit of coughing, and the man winced in sympathy when he saw the toddler doubling over in pain. Alfred approached her, worried, before the fit subsided and they were both running around again.

He turned to the woman who had walked up beside him.

"I worry for young Roanoke, Elyoner," he said to Virginia's mother.

"Why do you call _Virginia _that?" Elyoner Dare asked in response, emphasizing her daughter's proper name.

He did not answer the question, simply saying, "Her condition worsens."

"Yes, I know," the woman's voice was small, defeated.

"How are the colonists in the infirmary?" He asked as he began walking further into the settlement, with the mother following closely behind.

"You always know just when to ask these things, only inquiring when there's news to be shared," she shook her head sadly, a melancholy smile on her lips, "Five more have recently succumbed to the swamp sickness, Thomas Topin died not even an hour ago, and William Browne collapsed from exhaustion.

"You know," she continued, "everyone says the New World is a land of promise, opportunity and riches, But I think the reality is a cruel and unforgiving land that tries its best to claim the lives of all who try to settle it." **(1)**

Elyoner did not notice that they had reached the spot where Virginia had doubled over coughing just moments before, nor did she notice how there seemed to be something on the ground distracting the Native American she stood next to. So after a lengthy pause, she once again tried to coerce a response out of the man.

"What do you think, Manteo?"

"Oh," he replied distractedly, "Yes, a very cruel land indeed."

Once again Elyoner failed to take note of the fact that that the native had never looked up from the ground the entire time, where he was inspecting something that her young daughter seemed to have coughed up.

Namely, blood.

**

* * *

**

Late August 1589

"So _hot_," Dyonis Harvye complained, "Manteo, why do you have to keep the fire going in this heat?"

"Smoke repels bugs and keeps the thatching from rotting," the Croatoan tribesman stated simply.

"Keep it burning, I've had enough of the bugs and condone anything to keep them at bay," Ananias Dare, now the de facto leader of Roanoke Colony, stated authoritatively. "Now, down to business. We all know of the Roanoke savages' raid last night, and we've just surveyed the damage. The house shared by Mr. Thomas Gramme and Robert Little has been burned entirely, the same goes for the Archard home; and Humfrey Newton's cottage has sustained considerable damage."

"How many dead?" Anthony Cage asked.

"Six: Henry Berrye, Richard Taverner, John Spendlove, Wenefrid Powell, and Michael Bishop were killed by the savages. Arnold Archard perished in the fire." he replied grimly.

Many people in the crowd gasped, and Joyce Archard ran out of the building with a sob she unsuccessfully attempted to stifle, dragging little Thomas Archard along and leaving Jane Jones sprinting after in an attempt to comfort her.

John Sampson made his way to the center of the room, the only area with enough open space to allow for free movement (if only because nobody wanted to endure the added heat of Manteo's fire). His face was a picture of thunderous rage, as he glared at the colonists present.

"Does anyone know why they're doing this?" he roared, barely able to keep from coughing due to the smoke.

"I do," Wanchese said, and everyone looked at him in surprise: the Croatoan Tribesman so rarely talked that most of the settlers often forgot he could speak English at all. He took his time moving from to the center of the room, contorting his legs and placing his feet at odd angles to avoid stepping on anyone.

Once he stood beside Sampson, the native began his explanation. "The previous white men, who built Fort Raleigh, also burned down the Roanoke's village of Aquascogok. Chief Pemisapan likely considers this revenge." **(2, 3)**

"Damn Greenville," an unknown person in the crowd echoed the sentiments of everyone present, swearing at the leader of the previous Roanoke colony who had seemingly caused all of their troubles. This single line sent many of the colonists into an uproar. **(4)**

"Did they even have a reason for doing this?" James Lasie called out, his boomingly deep voice loud enough to be heard above all the others.

The two Native Americans wisely remained silent, knowing it would be futile to even try talking over the outraged assembly.

Among the chaos, Ananias had called another, scrawnier man up to the center of the room, and was instructing him to do something. Once the smoke had cleared enough to see his face, those paying attention recognized him to be Thomas Scot, who, with a nod to Ananias, raised his hand to his face and placed two fingers in his mouth.

Taking a deep breath, he let out a long shrill whistle that immediately captured the attention of everyone and caused several to cover his or her ears.

Ananias Dare smiled gratefully at Scot as he spoke. "Thank you."

"Of course," was the reply as the man retreated back into the crowd.

"Now," Ananias said, "the council has been discussing the current state of affairs, and we think–"

"That we should send out a team of men to find habitable land in the Chesapeake area to relocate the colony," Rodger Baillie, another councilman, interrupted and finished the sentence for Ananias. "We shall need at least fifteen volunteers for this expedition."

For several moments, a tense silence occupied the governing hall of Roanoke Colony.

"I'll go," Thomas Gramme spoke, being the first of a flood of men suddenly volunteering.

Ananias and Rodger just smiled.

* * *

**Early September 1589**

"The ships have been built?" Ananias Dare asked in a way that seemed to _demand_ a proper answer.

"Yes, sir, the canoes are finished," Roger Baillie replied.

"And the supplies collected?" the de facto governor further inquired.

"Whatever we could spare."

"Good. I'd go with you, but–"

"Don't worry, we know how much Virginia and Elyoner need you," the other interrupted, looking inside Ananias's cabin to the sickly two year old lying in the single, crudely constructed bed.

"Thank you for understanding. Rodger, I leave you in charge of the expedition," Rodger nodded in acknowledgement to the other man's statement, "now, let's go and see the lot of you off."

**~ C R O ~**

It was just before noon. The sun had not yet reached its zenith and the beach still retained some of the coolness of the early morning. Hidden in the shadows of trees along the edge of the beach, half lodged in the sand and half floating in the water, were the two large canoes to be used on the expedition to the Chesapeake Bay. They were fashioned under the careful instruction of Manteo and Wanchese, and the result was two satisfying, sturdy vessels, currently being loaded with supplies for the expedition.

The two Croatoans, upon seeing the outcome of the colonists' labor, had joked that they might have made excellent natives themselves, if given the chance.

But it had soon became obvious that no, the Europeans could _not_ be Indians. As they continued preparing for the trip, the colonists had realized how little they actually knew about the land they now inhabited. They frequently made mistakes such as putting poisonous plants in with the food supplies for the trip, and the two Croatoan Tribesmen realized that in order for the mission to the Chesapeake to be successful, one of them would have to join the expedition.

Surprisingly it had been Wanchese, not Manteo, who had volunteered.

This is what found the two saying farewell on the beach just as the expedition was about to head off, speaking in their native language and standing a little ways away from the rest of the well-wishers.

"If you encounter other tribes, ask immediately for Matoaka of the Powhatan tribe. Once you see her, tell her you have the trust of Manteo of Croatoan, she'll recognize me, and hopefully welcome you," Manteo instructed his fellow tribesman, who nodded gravely. **(5)**

"But be sure to ask for Matoaka and no one else," he stressed this point greatly.

"I understand," the other said in return.

"Then I have nothing more to say. May you go swiftly to your destination, and have little hardship throughout your journey."

"And may you find safety within your wikiwam and prosperity for your tribe." Wanchese replied, the two Native Americans sharing one last smile as if it were a private joke between them, before he too went to help with loading the canoes. **(6)**

Suddenly, Manteo was alone, trying to decide whether to go back inside the fort or stay until the explorers' group departed. He eventually settled on remaining on the beach, joining the rest of the people there to say goodbye to those who were leaving.

Jane Jones was there, he saw, but decided not to go up and speak with her. Her husband was going on the voyage, and they seemed to be sharing rather intimate words of farewell.

And Ananias Dare, though not leaving on the mission, was busying himself with the impending departure nonetheless, instructing the people who _were_ part of the designated group on how to properly load a canoe. Occasionally he would talk to the man beside him, Rodger Baillie, who would nod and say something that was likely a variation of "yes, sir," in return.

It took a while before the group was completely prepared, the selected men pushing the canoes off the beach and sliding into the boats, while those left behind waved and shouted encouragements.

Despite the commotion, Ananias noted Manteo's approach, nodding to him when he came to a stop next to the other, so that they were standing side by side.

"How long?" the tribesman asked gravely.

"If they don't return by spring," the colony's leader replied, immediately understanding the question asked, "then we assume them dead."

* * *

**Historic Notes:**

**1. ****Swamp Sickness**** – known today as Malaria, it was called congestive chills or swamp sickness by the people of the time.**

**2. ****Chief Pemisapan**** – also called Chief Wangina or Chief Wingina. He was the chief of the Roanoke Indians on Roanoke Island (not to be confused with the Croatoan Tribe), who were originally allies of the English but became unfriendly after the destruction of their town Aquascogok**

**3. ****"The Previous White Men"**** – The "Lost Colony" of Roanoke was the second colony to be established on the island. The first colony was from 1585-1586. They were responsible for building Fort Raleigh, but the colonists, mainly of the upper class, decided against doing manual labor and instead relied on their alliance with the Roanoke Indians for survival. The colony was abandoned in 1586 after fallout with the Roanoke Indians, all of the colonists boarding a ship captained by Sir Francis Drake – an AWESOME famous/infamous English pirate captain – and returning to England.**

**4. ****Sir Richard Greenville**** – the nobleman in charge of the first colony in Fort Raleigh on Roanoke Island (1585-1586). He began the tradition of bad relations with the natives of Roanoke when he burned the Native American village Aquascogok as retaliation for a silver cup stolen from the English colonists.**

**5. ****Matoaka**** – other names include Matoika and Amonute, but most people know her by a childhood nickname she was assigned: Pocahontas. She was an American Indian of the Powhatan tribe, a Native American empire that controlled almost all of the land around the Chesapeake Bay and was reaching its peak at about this time. She was also the fabled savior of John Smith and the wife of John Rolfe. She actually was not born until around 1595, but I made this slip-up on purpose.**

**6. ****Wikiwam**** – a wigwam, the common shelter for the Algonquin Indians, whose territory included present day North Carolina. Wikiwam is an Algonquin word, which I used because the Croatoan Indians spoke the Carolina Algonquin language. **


	3. The Second Chapter

**A****/N: Hello, and welcome to this week's installment of **_**The Lost Colonist!**_** Please welcome your host, Infinity Complex!**

***Queue applause***

**Anyways…I just realized something: I have forgotten to ask for reviews. So, while you do not have to review, please remember that I would definitely adore anyone who gave me feedback.**

**Now, since that is over with, please note that Alfred F. Jones is America's human name. And 'Elyoner' is the old English spelling of 'Eleanor', and thus should be pronounced like its modern counterpart. Also, I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

"**The Lost Colonist"**

_He was not always the United States of America, or even the American Colonies. Once, he was just Alfred F. Jones, a little boy from the Lost Colony of Roanoke…_

**The Second Chapter**

**October 1589**

Manteo found the Dare residence completely empty – well, it would have been, if not for the presence of their young, unconscious daughter. But it was still strange, considering that Elyoner was the one who had requested to meet him.

Of course, Virginia Dare's awful state quickly stole the entirety of the Croatoan Tribesman's attention. She was unhealthily white with a sickly yellow tint to her skin, and her hair hung limply from her head. Her bones protruded in a way that created a ghastly image, and she seemed like the living dead as she fitfully rolled about in her unconscious state.

"The colonists rapidly perish at the hands of disease and starvation," he spoke in his native language, knowing it would make no difference, as no one was around – awake – to hear. However, his depressed tone of voice and dismal expression belied his troubled message. "And you must suffer all of their pain."

He looked sadly on little Virginia's face, brushing away some hair that had fallen across her forehead, a hollow reminder of once vibrant auburn curls. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by the cabin's door creaking as it opened.

The Native American faced the door to see who had come in; the person's entry was first marked by a hand clutching a bowl, then a head of messy golden-blond hair that was only a few feet higher than the ground. Eventually, the door was pushed all the way open, revealing an apprehensive Alfred Jones, bowl in hand. He looked from side to side nervously and jumped at the sight of Manteo.

"Manny," he exclaimed as if he had been caught stealing from the grain stores or committing another heinous act, much to the American Indian's amusement. The toddler looked down at the bowl in his hand as he shamefacedly shuffled inside the dwelling.

"Hello, Alfred," the man said gently, taking the bowl from the child. He was trembling, likely afraid of receiving a harsh scolding from the Croatoan.

After some time had passed without any sign of a scolding, the boy uncurled from his protective semi-crouch.

Then, he was running, at Virginia's side in a flash, kneeling by the bed and clutching one of the young girl's hands in both of his own. His head was bowed, eyes tightly shut, and he was quietly speaking words that Manteo could not distinguish, but the desperation in his voice was easily heard.

He was praying.

"…In Jesus name we pray, Amen." The Croatoan could only barely hear the last words of the boy's plea to God, and absently noted that he was getting better at pronouncing the "R" sound.

Once finished, the young toddler cautiously opened one eye, then the other. Suddenly, he was looking up at his sick friend's face with the most heartbreakingly hopeful expression, as if God would answer the prayer by immediately curing her. And when that did not happen, the boy's shoulders visibly slumped in defeat. He laid his head down on the bed beside her, using one hand to hold Virginia's and the other to idly play with the moss that made up the bed's cushioning.

It was then that Manteo looked to see what filled the bowl Alfred brought into the cabin, and he was shocked at what he saw.

It was filled with food, likely food that the boy had put aside to bring to his friend (which made absolutely no sense, as the child was known for his voracious appetite throughout all of Fort Raleigh, and ate almost anything on sight).

The Native American crossed the room, laying a hand on the toddler's shoulder and gently shaking him to get his attention. This time, instead of jumping upon seeing the darker skinned man, the blonde sluggishly raised his head and moved himself into an upright sitting position, sitting cross-legged as he had seen the Croatoan man do so many times before. The American Indian was briefly amused at this imitation, sitting across from him in the same fashion.

The bowl was placed between them.

"Your breakfast?" the man said questioningly, referring to the contents of the bowl.

The child nodded sheepishly and averted his eyes, once again seeming to be afraid of punishment.

"Why?" Manteo's question, though a single word, had many meanings. _Why did you save it? Why didn't you eat it? Why bring it here? _

There was a long pause, before the boy took a deep breath and spoke again.

"Ginna's to thin," he said, finally mustering up the courage to look the native in the eyes, and the Croatoan was surprised to see such determination in the child's expression. "I'm helping her. I'm going to save her."

* * *

**January 1590**

This winter progressed in the same manner as the last: not as cold as the winters in England, but enough to cause a severe food shortage, and the lack of snow was off put by the biting frost. There was no word from John White or the expedition to the Chesapeake. The Roanoke Indians stubbornly refused to offer any food to the occupants of Fort Raleigh, and the colonists' body count only rose as more and more fell prey to starvation, malnutrition, and scurvy.

This, Manteo noted, particularly affected the young Dare child – her gums began bleeding and she somehow managed to grow thinner than she was before. The native also saw how _little_ Alfred was affected; despite the significantly smaller size of his meals in addition to giving his breakfast to Virginia as often as he could, the young child seemed to thrive.

The young blonde's personality mirrored that of his mother's, with the way that he enthusiastically jumped and sprinted about the settlement, always smiling and laughing. His wonder at the smallest things always lifted the colonists' spirits, and his energetic nature never failed to amuse. But what caught Manteo's attention was that he remained this upbeat when, all in all, the boy was only getting a small fraction of the food he should.

However, the more pressing matter right now was the youngest Dare, Manteo reminded himself. She was lying in her bed, unnaturally flushed from an extremely high fever, and only barely awake – her eyes were open, but rolled into the back of her head – as she vomited blood and rapidly convulsed. Blood soaked her clothes, spreading from various wounds that had just appeared on her body, the numerous blankets that previously protected her from the biting cold dyed a murderous red.

The cottage was too small for this many people, and _far_ too small for the amount of activity taking place within its walls. Elyoner Dare was crying in the corner, unable to fit into the group around the bed and unwilling to see her daughter in such a sorry state. Jane Mannering, one of two physicians in the settlement and the only midwife, darted about the room in a frantic attempt to find _anything_ to stop the bleeding, with Ananias Dare not far behind. Thomas Stevens, the other physician, stood at the foot of the bed and catalogued the symptoms of the illness, possessing an infuriating aloofness – as if he had the right to simply study the hapless patient instead of help her. **(1)**

In the middle of all this was Manteo, standing against the wall opposite the bed and watching with a stoic expression.

The noise level was steadily rising. Elyoner's sobbing, Jane's sharply barked instructions, Ananias's hasty and panicked replies, and Mr. Stevens's murmuring as he wrote were layered on top of Virginia's choking, coughing and retching. It created a suffocating symphony of illness and suffering.

And suddenly, it was all eerily silent. Virginia was conscious, her eyes glancing about the room in a frantic, miserable manor. She was crying, made obvious by the choked half-sobs half-coughs escaping her convulsing body, but was too dehydrated to produce tears.

Her father knelt beside the bed, grasping both of her hands in his own and murmuring assurances that everything would be all right.

The young girl would have none of it. She shook her head rapidly, opening her mouth several times and taking deep breaths as if she was about to say something, but often descending into another coughing fit before she could speak.

"Help them," she finally managed in a faint, raspy voice, that retained enough of the naive chime-like quality of a young child to remind everyone present that this girl was only two and a half years old, far too young for this amount of suffering.

"Help who?" Ananias asked, his voice as soothing as he could make it.

"Bailie's men," her response was interrupted by more blood spilling from her already red stained lips, and it was only after another fit of coughing and dry heaving that she finally managed to continue. "They're dying."

* * *

**February 1590**

"Here," Manteo found a dish of food – the meager dinner the colonists had become so used to eating – shoved into his field of view. He followed the little hands grasping the dish up to an equally small face, with blue eyes boring into his.

The native cocked his head to the side.

"You haven't been eating." Alfred said it in a cheerful tone, with a voice was obviously very young. The naivety heard in his speech hid the fact that the words were definitely not that of a child's, and the way the sentences were formed resembled adults' speech more than anything.

"Have you?" the Croatoan replied. It had been two weeks, fourteen days since Alfred realized that he was unaffected by the lack of food, and had decided it would be best to starve himself and save what he could for those who really needed it. The small blonde could be seen around the settlement, forcing his food on the obviously malnourished colonists. The recipients of such treatment would accept the offer grudgingly, and only after much wining on the young child's behalf, but the way they proceeded to inhale the meal showed how much they truly needed it.

"It doesn't bother me," the child spoke like an adult again, but his voice was still whiny enough to cover up the maturity of his sentence structure. And his facial expression was that of a toddler, one about to throw a temper tantrum because an adult simply could not see the world their way.

"I am equally unaffected," the American Indian said, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately and smiling. Noticing the icy glare he was receiving, Manteo decided it would be best to distract the little child, "Roanoke would appreciate it."

It was now common knowledge that the native referred to Virginia as 'Roanoke', and Alfred, finding Manteo's suggestion to his liking, was quick to run off in the direction of the Dare home.

Manteo sighed and returned to sharpening his arrowhead.

**~ C R O ~**

"Your boy is a strange one," Elyoner Dare spoke as she set about brewing the herbs for Virginia's tea.

"Don't remind me," Jane Jones replied with a small smile.

"But it's true," the woman's voice took on a seriousness it had not previously possessed. "He hasn't eaten for weeks, yet is stronger than any man I've ever seen. He speaks like an adult, but in a voice that's most certainly a child's. Today, he asked if Virginia was going to die," she paused to let out a shaky breath, "children his age _don't _understand death–"

"Stop!" the other demanded, but she just continued.

"I catch him talking to himself in a strange language that sounds remarkably like Spanish–"

"Elyoner!" the boy's mother interrupted once again, appearing much more agitated than before.

"–I think he may be a witch."

Jane looked horrified, quickly gathering the shirt she was mending and fleeing from the one room house, but looking back with a dark expression before she crossed the threshold.

"Do _not_ jest about such things," the blonde's eyes had a grim conviction, and her tone of voice dared the other to challenge that command.

Once she had left, Elyoner shook her head despondently and allowed a small, sad smile to slip on her face. She would not condemn the dear boy to be burned at the stake, but she certainly meant what she said.

* * *

**Late March 1590**

Ananias Dare looked dejectedly around Fort Raleigh's meeting hall, once completely filled with over a hundred colonists.

That number had dwindled to less than thirty.

Of course, that was just an estimate. Once the settlement's population had been effectively halved, Jane Mannering had decided that keeping track of the body count was far too discouraging. As the colony's midwife, a highly respected position, she had the authority to enforce this claim, and the notion had spread throughout the colony like wildfire.

Thomas Scot's shrill whistle cut through everyone's conversations and thoughts like a knife. The loud, high sound, the unofficial signal of the meetings' commencement, shocked the de facto governor, causing him to banish all thoughts of the settlement's dwindling population and reorient his mind around the meeting at hand.

He stood up to speak, taking a deep breath before beginning to recount the troubling news.

"The expedition to the Chesapeake has been given sufficient time to return," he began, making sure his voice was loud enough to be heard by all, "and seeing as they haven't, I believe we must consider them dead."

He paused, waiting for the shock, the muffled sobs and surprised gasps to subside. The man's heart broke, he truly felt for the colonists who had lost loved ones – in a community that was so small to begin with, everyone had at least one person to grieve for. But there was no time to grieve, not in this harsh place where survival took precedence.

"So it has been decided, that Manteo shall take myself and five others to the Croatoan Island, where we'll request that the chief let us live with the tribe there. The Croatoans have been friendly, and I believe we'll have a warm reception.

"The others, Elizabeth Viccars, William Clement, Henry Rufoote, Robert Wilkinson, and Margery Harvie with her baby John, have all agreed to come, and Rodger Prat will be in charge of the colony in my absence. The supplies have been gathered, and we'll be using one of the canoes deemed unnecessary for the Chesapeake expedition. It should take about a month. We leave at dawn."

He was greeted with silence.

**~ C R O ~**

Jane Jones was a strong woman, Elyoner Dare reflected. She was known for charging straight through any obstacles in the way of her goal – not bothering to think of a way around them – remaining optimistic in the face of extreme adversity, and for laughing off any tragedy. But it certainly was not because she did not care, that she was able to laugh off her losses.

No, she shared far more than anyone should have to.

"What could I tell Alfred, when he asked why his father hasn't come back?" she spoke shakily.

Actually, Elyoner had a suspicion that Alfred already figured out what happened to the failed expedition his father took part in, and was only asking to confirm the conclusion he had reached. Nevertheless, she comforted the obviously distraught widow.

"It's okay to cry," she said to the other woman, who was so obviously struggling to keep the tears from her eyes.

"I– I thought that when Griffin left, to the Chesapeake," she paused to take in a shuddering breath, "that he might return bruised, maybe with a broken bone…

"But it never occurred to me that he wouldn't return at all."

* * *

**Historic Notes:**

**1. ****Physicians**** – there were two primary types of colonial physicians. The first was the midwife-physician that was always a woman and made up about 40% of the professional medicine community. The other was the scholar-physician, considered scholars more than medical practitioners; their philosophy: if the patient dies, it is because of the disease and not the doctor (so I imagine them being rather arrogant).**


	4. The Third Chapter

**A/N: Not quite sure what to put here. I cannot write about what happened during my week, seeing as I write all of these ahead of time so that the only thing I have to do is literally just **_**post it**_** and…oh well. Anyways… read the historic notes, review, America's human name is Alfred F. Jones; I do not own Hetalia, blah blah blah.**

**This is where the story starts becoming quite a bit darker.**

* * *

"**The Lost Colonist"**

_He was not always the United States of America, or even the American Colonies. Once, he was just Alfred F. Jones, a little boy from the Lost Colony of Roanoke…_

**The Third Chapter**

**April 1590**

It was a mystery, Pamoua thought.

A line of logs, tightly packed together, in a ring around the strange men's dwellings.

Why would anyone need something like that? **(1)**

Despite its uselessness, Roanoke Indian was forced to admit that the sight was impressive. Hundreds of these dead trees, stripped of their braches, sharpened to a point and driven into the ground, creating a barrier that stood at roughly three times his height. There was an entryway, always guarded by at least one of the tribe's members. In specific places, he would often see their heads poking _above _the tall logs, with their light skin, strange hair and shiny bows and arrows.

He caught the eye of the light skinned man standing by the entryway to the village. He smiled, hoping the gesture would appear friendly (everything seemed so backwards with the white men...maybe a frown signified good intentions? After all, they did insist on calling their weapons _muskets_, which made no sense: bows and arrows were bows and arrows, shiny or not).

Maybe, Pamoua would be able to talk to them, ask them questions. There were many things he was curious about, and this was the first time he had managed to work past his mother's fierce attempts to keep him away from the white peoples' village. He could finally prove to the tribe that these newcomers were not as bad as everyone thought.

The Roanoke Indian was startled from his grand plans by the alarmed expression on the white man's face; he seemed to be shouting something in fear. He was shoving something down the shiny bow he had, an arrow perhaps? How could one shoot an arrow like that?

Now he was pouring something else down in as well, and lifting it up to his shoulder. Pamoua only realized the danger he was in when the man had it aiming directly at him. His eyes widened, and he scrambled to get away, to find cover. But all his attempts were useless: there was no cover to be found in the woodless meadow that extended around the village.

The man's eyes were hard, resolute–

**~ C R O ~**

Mum would not be pleased, Alfred thought: sneaking out of the fort for half a day – _half a day _– without permission was probably not an action she would condone.

The beautiful springtime air held the entire settlement entranced, grateful for this reprieve after such a harsh winter, and everyone was celebrating in his or her own small way. So when the boy saw the wildflowers just outside the fort, blooming so beautifully in the warmer weather, he was immediately possessed by the need to go and pick them. They would be a gift to Mum, he decided, she had been looking very sad since she realized Father was not coming back, and he hoped the flowers would cheer her up.

Then, while running throughout the forest in search of more flowers, he had come across a group of rabbits far too cute to ignore. He had a strange way with the native animals: they would flee when they came in contact with the other colonists, but never run away from him, Ginna or Manny. One thing led to another, and the blonde boy found himself happily playing with the family of bunnies as he would play with any other child his age.

It was quite a long time before the sun's position – not all the way behind the horizon, but certainly in the midst of setting – alerted him to how late it really was. Worried that darkness might fall before he made it back home and cause him to get lost in the forest at night, he began to hurry back to the settlement. Truthfully, the boy was getting rather scared now, it was getting dark, and he had heard the stories the other colonists told, ones about monsters that came out at night and ate little children.

A large, wooden wall came into sight and the blue-eyed blonde breathed a sigh of relief, beginning to run towards the fort in hopes that he had not already missed dinner.

However, he stopped just short of the wall and frowned. The gate was not supposed to be wide open or unattended like that. It was far too quiet, and he could not feel the steady hum of human life that he usually felt upon returning to the safety of the walls. =Tthe sense of security he felt when near or within the wooden fortifications was lost, instead replaced by a growing feeling of dread.

Something was definitely wrong.

Taking a deep breath – _I have to be brave, for Mum and Ginna_ – he rushed inside.

The first thing he noticed was the dead man lying just beyond the gate, his body twisted at a grotesque angle with blood splattered along his clothing. It looked like he had been on sentry duty, in charge of watching the gate. His body was facing Alfred, but someone had managed to twist his neck so that his head was facing in the entirely opposite direction, and the boy had to tiptoe around the body to get a good look at the face.

John Cotsmur, if he was not mistaken, as the face was too disfigured to be absolutely sure.

He felt like he was going to be sick. It was one thing to see a dead body, but something completely different to see a dead body with a name, the dead body of a person you had lived alongside, built memories with.

Next was young Ambrose, who had dutifully taken care of him whenever he decided to leave the fort. She was slumped against the wall of her family's house, eyes glassy and far too wide, mouth hanging open limply. There was a large gash on her forehead, her hair tangled and her face caked with a combination of dried blood and the sandy mud that the colonists used to plaster the walls of their buildings. There was a matching blood splatter on the wall a few feet above her.

_She should not be like this,_ Alfred thought with disgust,_ she should be running after me, berating me for disappearing for so long, yelling at me for getting her stockings muddy. But she shouldn't be dead, anything but dead_.

This time, he did become nauseous, having to bend over on the ground and brace himself with his arms as wretches turned to dry heaves.

He finished but still could not rid himself of the nausea. The smell of what could only be blood and carnage permeated the air, and it did not do anything to help the situation.

His first thought was then to check if his mother was alive, though he had a sinking suspicion she was not. Taking another deep breath and telling himself to be brave again, the boy shut his eyes to avoid seeing any more corpses and blindly fumbled throughout the fort, trying to make it to his house by memory alone. His greatest fear is that he might stumble and find that he had tripped on a corpse of someone he had once known.

He breathed out a sigh of relief when his outstretched arms met a rough, mud caked wall before he managed to fall over any of the other deceased settlers.

The relief was short lived, however. That feeling disappeared completely when he entered his home. Mum was there, lying partially in the smoldering fireplace with her mouth open in a silent scream, an iron kettle lay on the floor beside her, blood trickling down its side.

The back of her head was completely bashed in, blood and god knows what else spilling out, and the half of her face that lay in the ashes was burned down to the bone, the house reeked of burning hair.

Alfred took in a shuddering breath before running out of the house as quickly as he could.

But immediately realized his mistake, he had forgotten to shut his eyes before leaving his family's home, and was now surrounded by the corpses of his former friends.

The silence suffocated him.

He fled in terror, ripping his eyes from the gruesome sight and nearly tripping over himself in his rush to get out of the fort.

In his wake, a bouquet of wildflowers lay on the blood soaked ground, forgotten.

**~ C R O ~**

It had been a while since the colonists were slaughtered. Alfred was not sure of the exact length of time – less than a week, he was certain, but definitely more than three days.

The boy had spent that time in the forest, living with the rabbits he found when searching for the wildflowers. Their presence kept him sane – the blonde did not think he could stand being alone – and they accepted him, not questioning his presence. They were very helpful, sensing people approaching so that when the rabbits hid, the blue-eyed boy knew to hide as well. It had saved him from encounters with Roanoke Indians several times.

And the forest was a nice place to live, there were always animals doing something, trees rustling in the wind, birds singing, so it never became anything close to resembling the eerie, lifeless quietness of Fort Raleigh.

Thus the young boy was seriously questioning his motives for returning to the settlement. Standing just in front of the fort's entrance, he desperately wanted to forget whatever had caused him to come back in the first place.

Just go in, see what happened to Ginna, and get out, he reminded himself, mustering as much bravery as he could before charging through the open gate.

The boy felt all of that courage dissipate the minute he caught sight of the mangled corpse of John Cotsmur, and found himself anxious to get to the Dare home. He skittered around the bodies that littered the ground, taking care not to look at their faces. Though it did not make him nauseous this time, it still hurt to think of them as people he once knew, people he would never see again. It was easier not to recognize them, simply think of them as bodies.

The wind had all but disappeared inside the fort's walls, and the stale air he was forced to breathe – with the lingering smells of death and decay – nearly made him sick. It seemed as though time had frozen in the fort, nothing had changed since the last time he was there, though the blue-eyed boy was reluctant to recall those memories to compare. And the silence was just as horrifying, reminding him of that first time he saw the mangled corpses of his family.

The blonde boy began humming to himself, simply for something end the stifling stillness.

Tiptoeing through the camp while not looking down hindered the boy's progress, and it felt like an eternity had passed before he finally got to the door he sought, the entryway of the Dare home.

He tentatively peeked inside, quickly closing his eyes once he caught sight of Elyoner Dare with her bottom jaw missing. He easily made his way through the one-room abode blind – he knew Ginna's house as well as he knew his own – and only opened his eyes when his shins hit his friend's bed.

The bed creaked, and someone gasped.

"Alfie?" a small hand brushed his, clutching it. It was dry, flaky, and incredibly stiff, but it was alive, and that steady pulse was enough to coax the boy out of his self-imposed blindness.

His bright blue eyes, once opened, met with his childhood friend's blood-shot, desperate gaze, but he did not have time to look for very long, before he was completely engulfed in a loose hug.

"Alfie!" it was a cry of relief and a cry for help all at once, in a croaking, cracking voice that barely even managed to whisper. She was sobbing without tears, coughing up blood and at the same time desperately taking in air.

Her face was buried in his chest, though her grip on him constantly slipped because she was too weak to keep it. Her hands were painted red by dried blood, which her gown was covered in as well, and which she was smearing it on his clothing as she tried to hold him.

"I can't–" she went into an awful fit of coughing, a dry, barking, incredibly painful sound that interrupted her speech. She was forced to wait until it had subsided before she began speaking, even then interrupted by desperate gasps of air and coughs and having to spit out a combination of blood and saliva. "I can't stay here. Every time I open my eyes, I see Mum."

The girl's hold on his gown began going slack, her arms and wrists shaking with the simple effort of grasping it for this long. She became unbalanced, and was scrambling for a hold on his shoulders when the blue-eyed boy finally managed to come out of his trance and help her to sit up properly, taking special care to face her away from the sight of her dead mother.

That was the first time Alfred got a good look at his friend's face. Seeing her now, she looked more like an animated corpse than a living, breathing human being. The boy raised his small hand, gently touching her cheek. It was cold.

She was coughing again, gasping in search of air just as she had all those times before. But now the young boy could see why. There, around her neck, lay a ring of nasty looking bruises, with a cut along the front, open and bleeding and monstrously deep.

Someone had slit her throat.

Alfred let his hands, which had been resting on her shoulders as a comforting gesture before, fall to his side as he stared in horrified shock. As grateful as he was that she had survived, his friend should have been dead.

The sobs he had repressed since he first saw the murdered colonists violently exited his body, as he hugged her to him.

And he whispered, softly, sadly, over and over.

"_Ginna."_

* * *

**Historic Notes**

**1. ****Land Ownership**** – the Native Americans did not grasp the concept of 'this is my land **_**therefore it is not open to you'**_**, which caused a lot of disputes between them and the Europeans in the early years. But because of this, they would have found fences and fortifications unnecessary.**


	5. The Fourth Chapter

**A/N: Hiya. Wazzup?**

…**Yep, still do not have anything to say. Read the historic notes, write reviews, remember that Alfred and America are the same person…I think that is everything.**

**Oh, yeah, I do not own Hetalia.**

**So, without further frivolities, on with the show!**

* * *

"**The Lost Colonist"**

_He was not always the United States of America, or even the American Colonies. Once, he was just Alfred F. Jones, a little boy from the Lost Colony of Roanoke…_

**The Fourth Chapter**

**May 1590**

"Alfred?" Bright blue eyes slowly opened, the sound of his own name making Alfred drowsily wake from his nap.

"Virginia!" a different voice this time, but one that immediately woke her She struggled to sit up properly, before finally remembering that she was too weak to do so. But that did not matter, because Ananias Dare was soon by her side, gently picking her up in a tearful reunion.

"After seeing the fort…we thought you were dead," he said, his voice choked up with emotion.

"Father," the young girl cried in glee, laughing happily.

The man nodded in reply, his eyes watery. It was a while before he was able to speak again.

"You've woken up," he finally managed to reply

Alfred felt a hand resting on his head, ruffling his hair. He smiled when he looked up and met Manteo's gaze, flinging himself into the Croatoan's arms. The man squatted down to be able to reciprocate the young boy's embrace.

But soon, the blonde boy had returned to watching his young friend.

Ananias looked over his daughter, his gaze coming to rest on the strip of cloth around her neck. "What's this?" the man asked, fingering it.

His question went unanswered.

"Shall we return to the canoes?" Manteo severed the silence, "We have no more business here."

Ananias nodded, making sure Virginia was comfortably settled in his arms before walking off into the woods. After a few moments, Manteo began walking as well, extending his hand to his own young charge.

Alfred readily took it, his boundless energy allowing him to easily keep pace with the long strides of the Native American. After a while of walking silently, he turned and faced the man, looking up at him with curious, expectant eyes.

"Your hands are dirty, Manny," he said innocently, but still managing to imply the question that was hidden behind the statement.

The Croatoan's expression fell abruptly. It looked better, the boy decided, more natural. The native was happy to see him, but the smile he had worn before seemed fake to the blonde.

"There were far too many dead," he spoke distractedly, addressing the wind more than the young child, "far too many to bury."

He then began murmuring something in his own language; Alfred could easily tell what it was, considering the reverence with which he spoke the words.

Manteo was praying.

**

* * *

**

August 1590

"Is it supposed to be this quiet?" Captain Spicer asked the man walking beside him.

"I'm not sure," Captain Cooke replied, drawing his rapier and slashing at one of the branches in his path.

Both men, being far more accustomed to sea travel, were having a hard time making their way through the dense woodlands, and the small company of sailors behind them was having just as much difficulty. There was one man, however, that experienced no trouble at all in traversing this tricky, tangled, untamed forest. He was a good fifty feet in front of them, and the gap was steadily growing.

"White," Cooke shouted, his voice carrying over the woodland and calling to the lone figure so far ahead of them, the only one familiar with the island, John White, the Governor of Roanoke Colony. "Are you sure we're going in the right direction? We haven't seen any sign of the colonists since we arrived."

The other captain agreed with Cooke's question: they had seen the footprints and markings of the natives, but nothing of the settlers. However, John White simply ignored them, turning around a corner in the nearly over-grown trail they were following and disappearing from sight.

Captain Spicer, the other captain noted, became very alarmed at this, breaking into a run. Cooke did not follow suit: though their thinking was the same _(What if he became too far ahead by the time they rounded the corner, and they were unable to find him?)_,he trusted White more than the other. The sailors, however, were running after the captain that was dashing ahead, and Cooke had no choice but to catch up or be left behind by the entire group.

The party slowed to a walk once more when the man they were chasing came into sight, a little ways past the bend in the near nonexistent path. He was standing with his back facing them, peering at the bark of a particular tree.

A few minutes passed before they reached the tree themselves, but the Governor of Roanoke Colony had not moved and was still studying the bark. The tree was a large, grand oak with a trunk so think that not even four men holding hands would fit around it, but it was only up close that the party of sailors realized what about the plant was important enough to halt the determined governor in his tracks.

The letters C R O were carved into the bark.

Interesting, but not enough to significantly hold up the group.

"Shall we continue?" Spicer asked White.

"Yes, let's go," he said quietly, lost in his thoughts as he continued his brisk march through the forest.

"What did the carving mean, sir?"

One of the younger sailors hazarded speaking to White, who abruptly turned around to face the adolescent.

"I don't know. If the colonists were forced to flee, I instructed them to carve a cross under the name of where they'd be residing," the governor paused, turning to the other to see if he was listening and finding the sailor nodding in understanding. "Disregard it, boy. It's probably nothing."

The entire party did, in fact, forget about it, until they reached the fort itself.

The three letters took on an entirely different meaning when the group reached the settlement. Three insignificant letters suddenly became part of a word, when the governor spied the word "CROATOAN" carved in the settlement's fortifications.

Though apparently not distress signals, these carvings did not bode well.

The dark tidings were confirmed upon entering the fort's walls. The vegetable gardens were overgrown and untamed, feral plants taking over the ground on which they grew. The houses were dilapidated, the thatched roves collapsing and the mud walls crumbling; and various objects were thrown about in a haphazard fashion, including mass amounts of spoiled goods. The entire group came to the same conclusion: the settlement had obviously been abandoned.

The captains told the sailors to go to the nearby freshwater creek, while Governor John White was preoccupied with five chests they had found in a ditch.

Three of them contained the personal effects of the governor, rotted and falling apart, moldy with rain.

The other two were promptly discarded.

And there was not a single colonist, or corpse, in sight.

**~ C R O ~**

John White agreed to return to the boat that night only after being assured they would go to Croatoan Island the next morning and see if the colonists were living among the natives. That evening, he carried out his duties aboard the ship in a trance like state, which scared the sailors, though they let the man be – everyone on board knew the pain of losing a loved one, but no one could imagine the agony of losing everyone they held dear all at once.

He maintained this strange, half-awake state of mind throughout the next morning as well, showing no emotion whatsoever as they headed towards Croatoan Island. It was with the news that foul weather was forcing them to abandon the search that the governor snapped.

"What do you mean, we _can't go back_?" he shouted animatedly at Captain Spicer.

"Storms are on the horizon, lad, it's in the wind," the other replied.

"You were paid to return me to the colony, Captain," he spoke venomously, in a low, dangerous tone. "I _will_ see my granddaughter again."

"Not on this voyage," Spicer looked genuinely sorry to deny this man the chance to see his family, or at least find out what happened to them. "The storm looks strong. If we stay any longer, we risk running into it and destroying the ships."

John White's eyes widened and he sank to his knees, his face contorted in the kind of emotional agony that comes with the realization that he might never see the colony, his daughter, again.

"Eleanor…Virginia…"

* * *

**Croatoan Island**

**September 1590**

Croatoans and settlers alike were preparing for the funeral, and Manteo could distinctly hear two languages as he walked through the Croatoan village.

Conversations held in English generally concerned gratefulness of the settlers, happy that the natives agreed to take them in and teach them their ways. They discussed the Chief's conversion to Christianity along with the subsequent conversions if most of the others in the tribe, and the attempts both parties had made in learning the other's method of communication.

Algonquin words formed sentences that spoke of recent news from the Roanoke Indians, with whom the Croatoans had reformed a tentative, shaky alliance after taking in the settlers that had killed one of their own. (The death of the Roanoke boy, Pamoua was apparently the incident which led to the slaughter of the colonists, although many of Manteo's people suspected the hostile tribe just used it as justification for driving the settlers off the island.) They spoke of how the Roanokes had spotted grand canoes like the ones the settlers had arrived on, how white men had landed on the shore of their island, and how they had simply left, abandoning the white people's village, and never returning.

It had happened a week ago, but was considered new information as it had just reached their tribe.

Turned out that the same day the English ships had sailed away, the Dare child had died. And now, a week later, they were going to be holding a proper Christian funeral, naturally one of the most prevalent conversational topics for speakers of both languages.

Manteo took a deep breath, finally reaching his own wikiwam, where he lived with Alfred. No noises came from inside the structure, which was strange considering the frantic way everyone else ran about in preparation for the funeral. Maybe, the Croatoan thought, the youngest colonist was not inside. Alfred's proficiency with the Algonquin language had been recognized in the past few months (he had come to speak it as well as Croatoan adults, never mind that he was English and only three), and Manteo understood the constant activity that came with being a translator. The Croatoan was constantly being called from whatever task he was doing at the time to solve disputes or mediate conversations between his tribesmen and the settlers, and his young ward was in equally high demand.

That, or he could have been with Ananias and his wife, a lovely Croatoan woman whom he had married just last month, once again using the traditional ceremonies of the Anglican Church. Ananias was a good man, and Arowa an equally good woman: it was a union that everyone approved of, even Ananias's daughter, in the three weeks after the marriage for which she was alive, had come to like her new step-mother. And Alfred had comer to greatly enjoy the couple's company, often seeking them out before, and even more so in the week since the death of his dearest friend.

Thus it was to Manteo's surprise that the blue-eyed boy was inside the abode, sitting facing away from the Native.

"Why aren't you getting ready for the funeral?" the older man asked in his native language.

"I'm not going to attend," the other replied, using Algonquin as well. The boy's grasp on the vocabulary and grammar was flawless, but his speech was stiffly formal and his accent definitely needed improvement – though one could still make out his words, it made the native speakers cringe.

"I already said goodbye," his voice cracked, and he offered a shaky smile. "And she didn't leave behind a body to bury," Alfred shuddered at the memory of his childhood friend just dissolving right in front of him, and subconsciously raised his hand to loosely massage his throat. "Besides, she…was already dead I think, the…" he struggled to find an Algonquin equivalent for what he wanted to say, eventually deciding to include that one English word in the sentence. "The _bandage_ around her throat was to hide the fact that it had already been slit, and it never actually healed. She should've died, but she didn't.

"She wasn't human," he had switched to English, facing Manteo. His face was red, his eyes were puffy: he had been crying. "What was she?"

The native had known this subject would be approached sooner or later, and now was as good a time as any. He allowed a brief moment of silence, in which he tried to find the English words to answer the boy's question, but in the end he was forced to explain in a combination of both their native languages, relying primarily on his own.

"Every group of people has human form to represent it, a… a spirit. _Kiwasa_ is what we call them," he used the Algonquin name: he did not know if the Europeans had their own term for their kind. "In Europe, they exist for the different countries. Here, they are associated with different tribes. That _Kiwasa _lives for as long as that group survives, and symbolizes everything that group stands for.

"They age with the advancements of their people, so that they are often far older than they appear, but they often think like adults even when very young. They do not need to eat, drink or breathe, and can survive wounds that would kill a normal person, though how quickly they heal depends on the current state of their tribe. But most importantly, all _Kiwasa _experience the pain of their people – if their tribe starves, then no amount of food will keep them from starving right beside their tribesmen – reflect their desires, and feel the important events in their people's history." **(1)**

"You think Ginna was one of them?" Alfred asked.

"Roanoke Colony," Manteo clarified.

"And so you called her Roanoke."

"Yes, as did Wanchese."

"Oh," the boy looked towards the ground and blinked, cataloguing all of this new information. There was a moment of silence, where the Croatoan could see the gears turning in the younger's mind, as he used these new facts to make sense of everything his 'Ginna' had been through. Finally – and abruptly – he looked up, meeting the taller man's gaze. "But there are colonists still alive, so why'd she die?"

The other sighed, as he had only come up with tentative answers for this question. "The surviving colonists were all adopted into my tribe, when they chose a spouse from among my people," he began, "except you, of course. But from that moment on, they were no longer Roanoke's to claim. And, if I am not mistaken, John White returned to the abandoned colony a week ago–"

"I heard," the toddler interrupted, receiving a nod of recognition from the Native American.

"–Yes. Virginia died the same day John White gave up on finding the colony and left."

Alfred frowned, looking at the floor rather thoughtfully once more, and the American Indian could see in his expression that he still had unanswered questions.

"Are there others? Other _Kiwasa_?" he finally asked.

"There is me," Manteo noticed that the boy did not seem surprised in the slightest, "I am the _Kiwasa_ of the Croatoan people. There is Matoaka of the Powhatan Chiefdom, Masacha of the Roanokes…"

The man decided not to add that it was probably Masacha who had attacked Fort Raleigh: only _Kiwasa_ could enter a town unarmed and emerge victorious, and Manteo had not seen arrow shafts anywhere in the village. The Roanoke Indian was also the only one among them who was both strong enough and aggressive enough to produce corpses as mangled as John Cotsmur's and the others of the like that the Croatoan had helped to bury.

"…And there is you," the Native American's voice filled the momentary silence that developed between them, "I believe you are one of us."

"What group do I represent?" Alfred asked excitedly, seeming rather surprised and puzzled at this piece of information.

There was a long, pensive silence, which Manteo used to find the English words that would say what he was trying to communicate.

"Something beyond just Roanoke Colony," he spoke, "maybe you're England's claim on the Americas, all of Virginia. But I think you represent something even larger than that, you could include the colonies the south, which the Guale and Timuca traders say are still quite strong. Maybe even the European traders to the north, as well. **(2, 3)**

"You are the New World."

* * *

**Historic Notes**

**1. ****Kiwasa**** – that was the name of the idol of the Croatoan people, as documented in the journals of John White. I simply decided to borrow the word. **

**2. ****The Colonies to the South ****– This references the Spanish colonies in modern day Georgia and Florida. The Spanish had a steady foundation in America, a good example of this being St. Augustin, a Spanish fort in northern Florida that had been established in 1565 and was a common resting place for Spanish ships seeking to escape English pirates. In the 1580s, Franciscians they began converting Native Americans from the Timuca tribe, a tribe native to northern Florida, to Christianity. However, the Guale Indians, who lived on the coast of modern day Georgia, would continue to fight the Spanish presence until the year 1600. Manteo was right in saying that Alfred represented La Florida, as well as Virginia.**

**3. ****The Traders to the North**** –In the 1540s, the French tried their hand at establishing along the St. Lawrence River, ultimately failing. However, they had managed to develop strong ties with the local Montagnais Indians, and continued to trade with the natives even after they were forced to abandon their forts in the area. This would be Canada/Matthew's territory, so Manteo would be wrong about this. **


	6. The Fifth Capter

**A/N: I'm back ~ (Imagine someone saying that in the creepy sing-song type voice, hopefully that will get the effect I am going for.)**

**I have been writing these author's notes for six chapters so I do not think I should have to remind you to read the historic notes, but I shall because it is always important that you READ THE HISTORIC NOTES AS YOU GO. Also, I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

"**The Lost Colonist"**

_He was not always the United States of America, or even the American Colonies. Once, he was just Alfred F. Jones, a little boy from the Lost Colony of Roanoke…_

**The Fifth Chapter**

**Blackwall Shipyard, London**

**October 1606**

"Sir Smith!"

Smith was startled out of his reverie and turned around, much to the delight of Anthony Gosnoll, who had been yelling for the man for quite a while and had only now managed to be heard over the din of the shipyard.

"You called me?" Anthony was running towards the man, making it possible for the knight to speak at normal volume and still be heard.

"A noble's page is looking for you," he replied once close enough, "your company is sought by the Duke of London."

The knight looked at him confusedly, suspecting the man to be playing a joke on him.

"I had the same reaction," the other said haplessly, "I didn't think there was a 'Duke of London' either. But if he's rich enough to afford a page, it's best not to ignore him." **(1)**

The man nodded.

"Show me to this 'Duke'."

**~ C R O ~**

The page was a young adolescent with a very slim profile. His face was the deceitful kind that would have made one suspect he was a thief, if his clothes – the kind worn by the pages of only the highest nobles – did not make it obvious that he never needed stoop so low as to steal to obtain money. He stood beside an impressive carriage, gold and red, pulled by two horses; the luxuriously embroidered curtains in its windows were drawn, keeping the figures inside from being seen. The entire picture obviously spoke of extreme wealth and power, which made it seem rather out of place among the sailors, merchants and craftsmen in the shipyard.

"This is Sir Smith?" the page addressed Anthony Gosnoll, who nodded the affirmative. He then turned and bowed to the man in question, before righting himself and continuing to speak. "His Grace the Duke of London requests your presence."

"Now?" the knight asked.

"Yes, Sir," the page nodded stiffly as he replied, "he's in the carriage, when you're ready to enter."

Smith nodded, looking down at his clothing and grimacing at the plain garments he was wearing. The outfit, being comfortable, easy to work in and already dirty from the previous day's activities, was perfect for working in the shipyard, and woefully inadequate for meeting a noble of such a high rank (if 'Duke of London' was indeed a legitimate title). He simply shrugged off those thoughts, knowing that it could not be helped: even if he had time to change, he had none of his good apparel on hand to change into.

Reaching his hand to open the door of the coach, he was surprised to find it already open, the page having seen to it for him. The interior was painted and decorated as lavishly as the exterior, and the knight could not help but stop to take in the beautiful ornamentation.

A figure was present at the far end, sitting in the shadows that effectively hid his face. He called to the knight in an authoritative voice, "Are you Sir John Smith?" **(2)**

"Yes, Your Grace," the knight responded, bowing.

"Then enter!" the sharp rise in volume startled all present, except for the page, who was presumably accustomed to this behavior. "I've a meeting with His Majesty in an hour, and no time to waste."

Upon closer inspection, the carriage's interior seemed even more extravagant, with candles lighting it and even a clock to tell the time by. The knight found himself very conscious of his working clothes, and rather afraid of sitting down and ruining the beautiful upholstery of the seats. **(3)**

His Grace, it seemed, had picked up on that insecurity.

"To hell with the fabric," he commanded, sounding more impatient than condescending or aloof, and seeming far more human now that Smith could see the man whom the voice belonged to. Motioning to the seat across from him, he continued, "sit."

Smith obediently took his place on the bench, finding himself staring into the deep green eyes of the man who sat across from him.

He was rather short (not unlike John himself, but the knight would never admit it), with scruffy blonde hair and bright green eyes hidden by large eyebrows that only accentuated the seemingly permanent scowl on his face. His clothes, deep indigo in color with black embellishments, were made only of the richest materials and perfectly modeled to fit the latest fashions.

Everything about him oozed opulence and authority.

"Now, let's get straight to the reason that we're meeting today, shall we?" the Duke spoke first, "I've a request to make of you…"

* * *

**December 1606**

Not even the cold, wet London winter could dampen the spirits of the men in Blackwall, London. The three ships, the Susan Constant, the Godspeed, and the Discovery, were fully stocked with food and ale for their journey to the new world. All that was left was for the crew and passengers to get on board, and they would be ready to head off. **(4)**

If Sir John Smith did not quickly complete his task he would hold up the departure of the entire group. Thus the explaining the reasons behind the frantic pace with which he conducted his search for the Duke of London, who had said he would be present at the ships' maiden voyages.

"Over here," a loud voice called in the crisp, clean accent of an educated upper class Englishman. The knight whipped around to face the direction from which the voice came, spying the man he was searching for sitting roughly twenty feet away atop a rather high stack of crates likely belonging to some unknown merchant ship.

"Your Grace," the knight bowed.

"Sir Smith," the other replied, nodding his head in recognition.

"May I join you?" the knight then asked. He did not like the prospect of having to yell at the Duke over the general din and ruckus of the busy port, added to by the crowd of spectators come to watch the voyage that would (hopefully) mark the beginning of England's successful colonization of the New World.

"By all means."

He soon found out that climbing up the stack of crates was not nearly as easy as it looked. He was out of breath by the time he reached the top, where the green-eyed noble had strategically positioned himself to see all that was happening in the port.

The blonde man just raised a large eyebrow at his struggles.

"People shall look twice, seeing a man wearing such extravagant clothing sitting in such an odd place on the pier," Smith said, taking note of the Duke's garments, this time primarily emerald green – the same striking shade as the man's eyes – with gold ornamentation. It was still styled after the latest fashions, and equally as ornate as the outfit he wore the first time they met.

"Let them look twice," the reply was voiced in a flippant tone, "their stares are more than worth the clear view and the ability to sit away from the scrambling crowd on the pier."

The other looked in astonishment at the crowd below, failing to realize how big or busy it was as one of the people among them. "How'd you find me in there, let alone know I was looking for you?" he asked.

"The fae told me."

John Smith did not really know how to respond, but he luckily did not have to, as the Duke soon spoke again.

"The reason for your presence, Captain?" His Grace asked, addressing him by the title he had held in the Royal Navy.

"I've questions for you."

"Then ask them. Quickly. I've the feeling you need to return to your ship rather soon."

"Why me?" The knight wasted no time, immediately posing his first question

"Why did I choose you?" His Grace asked for clarification.

"Yes."

"I have heard many things about your ego, Sir Smith, and refuse to indulge you in this exercise of fishing for compliments."

The explorer took a deep breath, slowly inhaling and exhaling. That was abrupt and rather unexpected – nobles of such high rank usually came to, or maintained, their position by being diplomatic, and that answer was anything _but_ diplomatic. Then again, the knight could certainly relate: what he was about to ask was incredibly rude, and his rebellious side (which occupied almost the entirety of his personality) honestly did not care at all.

"Are you really the Duke of London?" he said at last.

He was met with a murderous glare in place of an answer.

"Alright, then why doesn't anyone know of you?"

Sir John Smith noted how the man's face seemed much younger as an impish smirk grew across it, his large eyebrows giving a rather alarming edge to the expression.

"That," he answered, "Is because my very existence is a royal secret."

The other nodded slowly, feeling strangely compelled to believe the man for some unknown reason. Then, he posed his final question.

"You've carried through on your end?"

"Yes," the Duke nodded, his grin disappearing just as quickly as it appeared, and its face rearranged into a scowl once more. "You'll have your place on the governing council of the colony. And you?" green eyes peered somewhat distrustfully at the knight, "I expect results."

The explorer nodded. "Don't worry. I'll personally lead the expedition to find out what happened to Roanoke Colony.

"There's nothing I won't do to get you the answers you seek."

* * *

**Historic Notes**

**1. ****Duke of London**** – Dukes are the second most powerful nobility, (second only to the monarchy), and the title was usually only held by members of the royal family. They are referred to as 'His Grace' and 'Your Grace'. There is no real Duke of London, hence everyone's confusion when they hear the title.**

**2. ****Captain John Smith**** – a very important figure in the establishment of Jamestown, the first **_**permanent**_** English settlement in the Americas. Aside from being on the council which governed the colony, he explored much of the Chesapeake Bay Area and beyond, and his maps and writings encouraged many other Englishmen to come to Virginia. He was also a notorious troublemaker on the voyage to the site where they would establish Jamestown: Captain Newport was planning on executing him once they reached land, but it was revealed that he was chosen to be part of the seven man governing council, thus ruining Newport's plans. Particularly famous for his encounter with the Powhatan princess, Pocahontas, he was also knighted for his service to the Transylvanian prince Sigismund Bathory in 1601, thus the title.**

**3. ****Clocks**** – they were REALLY expensive in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.**

**4. ****Susan Constant, Godspeed and Discovery ****– the three ships that landed in 1607at the site on the James River that would become Jamestown.**


	7. The Epilogue

**A/N: So sorry I could not post this chapter last weekend DX Something really big came up in my family.**

**Anyways, this is the epilogue, I found it fitting to end with Jamestown. I will probably write a sequel - most likely titled __****1607 - **featuring America's story from the founding of Jamestown to when England adopts him as a little brother;** keep your eye out for it. Please note that I am currently writing another piece, **_**Liberty Boys**_**, about America and the founding fathers in the years leading up to the Revolutionary War, and likely will not start on **_**1607 **_**until I have finished my current story. Also, I believe in writing the entire story before posting it, so you might not see it for some time (however when you do see it, you can rest assured that the chapters will be fully edited and posted consistently every weekend). **

**So now, I present the final chapter…**

* * *

"**The Lost Colonist"**

_He was not always the United States of America, or even the American Colonies. Once, he was just Alfred F. Jones, a little boy from the Lost Colony of Roanoke…_

**The Epilogue**

**Croatoan Island**

**April 1607**

After not aging for seventeen years, it was inevitable that the Croatoans would discover what Alfred was; they had taken to calling him 'New World' and 'America' now, treating the toddler with the same respect they did Manteo.

Personally, the _Kiwasa_ preferred to be treated as a boy of the age he appeared, rather than an immortal being; he often sought refuge away from such overly respectful behavior and stifling expectations in the woods that surrounded the village. It was not purposeful, but the way the people of the tribe would differ to him in so many of the choices they faced, from small domestic matters to large important decisions concerning the entire village, made the blue-eyed boy feel as though they were constantly expecting some sort of profound and mature insight.

No one was alarmed when the boy ran into the woods: despite his small size, Alfred could handle himself, and even if he could not, the animals were friends with him as they were with all the _Kiwasa_ of their native land. But the boy had been gone for three days now, and Manteo had become worried enough to go looking for him.

The Croatoan finally found the boy on the beach situated at the northernmost tip of the island, facing out towards the water. His determined gaze extended northeast over the blue expanse to meet the horizon in the distance, directed at an unknown target too far away to see.

"The tribe's worried about you," Manteo spoke in his native Algonquin language.

"I didn't mean to make them worry," Alfred's grammar and vocabulary remained impeccable, and he had become far less formal and much more relaxed. His accent had greatly improved as well: it was far easier on the ears, though still incredibly strange to those not used to hearing it.

The boy was quick to turn his gaze back to the water, however: the sunrise quickly stole the boy's attention away from the American Indian standing at his side.

"I want to bottle it up," he said, directing a bright grin at the Croatoan. "The sunrise, I want to capture all of the colors."

"And I imagine you will do so one day," the other replied.

"But can you picture it?" he continued, "it would be a glass bottle, or a box of some sort, and you'd look inside and see this glowing yellow half-circle–"

"Semicircle," the man corrected him.

"A glowing yellow _semicircle_, then. With yellow and orange and red, and the pinkish-violet, you can't forget that," he was rambling now, but Manteo found the rambles rather interesting and let him continue. "Just…pure color. Like the paints, I think that's what they're called. The things that European artists use to capture images, or the dyes that you all use to make designs."

"Knowing you, you'll likely find a way to do it," he spoke with the encouraging amusement of an elder indulging a child's fanciful desires, and though the boy did not look at him, he could tell there was an incredibly wide grin on his face at that comment.

A moment of silence passed between them, just watching the sunrise, before Alfred broke it.

"How're the Europeans doing?"

None of the traders and envoys from other tribes could take the young boy seriously, and telling anyone outside of the tribe about what he really was could endanger him, so the task of gathering information about the other European colonies was left to Manteo.

"Not much has happened."

The boy frowned. "Do you know if anything big is going to happen?" he then asked, directing a thoughtful gaze out towards the water.

"Such as?"

"I don't know," he said in a slightly winy tone, shrugging, "What about anything occurring around the Chesapeake?"

"Why the Chesapeake, in particular?"

The boy paused, trying to find the right way to answer the question.

"Have you ever felt a _need_ to be somewhere? Because I do, I feel this…it's like…energy, that's it. Energy buzzing around me. And it gets sharper at the mere _thought_ of the Chesapeake."

It became much clearer to the native now: he had felt such 'energy' himself, a precursor to important events in his tribe's history, like a call that guided him to where those events were going to take place. It was an invigorating feeling that had forced him out of the village to simply be able to enjoy the rush and euphoria it created.

Suddenly, the boy jumped to his feet with a wide grin. "It's so exciting! I just_ have to_ go there and see what's happening, what's going to happen…

"You'll take me there, won't you, Manny?" He sobered once more, his facial expression becoming a combination of a frown and a pout as he looked up at the Croatoan with pleading eyes.

The man just smiled, knowing it was impossible to say no to such a face. The young _Kiwasa_ could be quite persuasive _(manipulative?)_ when he wanted to be. "You likely won't be able to return for a long time, but yes, I can arrange for you to stay with the Powhatan tribe. Matoaka has expressed some interest in meeting you."

His eyes lit up, and Manteo abruptly found himself bowled over by a small bundle of blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Thank you, Manny!"

The boy's gratitude did not need to be voiced, Alfred wore his emotions plainly on his face, and the gratitude was apparent and plentiful enough in his expression alone.

"I knew you'd understand: I need to be at the Chesapeake, have to be," the boy began speaking again, all wide smiles, starry-eyes, and wonder at the marvels in the world, the marvels of the history that was about to be made.

"Something important is going to happen there, I can feel it."

_In May of 1607, the Godspeed, Susan Constant and Discovery disembarked at a small peninsula in the Chesapeake Bay area of Virginia. Led by a council of seven men, Captain John Smith among them, they would establish a fort called Jamestown, the first permanent English settlement in the Americas. The fate of the Lost Colony of Roanoke would never be uncovered, though not for the colonists' lack of trying._

_Captain John Smith would become famous for his encounter with the Powhatan Indians, where the chief's youngest daughter, Matoaka (also known as Pocahontas), would supposedly save him from sacrifice at her tribe's hands. But what history fails to mention is that there was a small blonde-haired, blue-eyed white boy present in the Powhatan village as well…_

**T H E L O S T C O L O N I S T**

**~ F I N ~**

* * *

**A Note Regarding the Names and Titles Used in this Fanfiction**

**Aside from Alfred, all of the colonists mentioned are taken from the actual list of the colonists from Lost Colony of Roanoke (including Alfred's parents, it was perfect that there happened to be a Jones couple among them). I opted to keep the original old English spellings of the names. **

**Though Jane Mannering and Thomas Stevens were depicted as a midwife and a physician in this fic, those were not their professions in real life. Ambrose was originally a boy, but he **_**was**_** listed as one of the children on the trip, so I did not fudge the age. And I have absolutely no clue whether or not Thomas Scot could actually do a two fingered whistle (but I researched it, and whistling of both the two fingered and normal variety did exist at the time, so it is certainly possible).**

**All Native American tribes mentioned **_**did**_** exist at the time, and in the locations stated. The existence of Manteo, Wanchese, Chief Pemisapan and Matoaka has been historically documented; however, Pamoua, Arowa and Masacha are completely fictional, and I made up their names.**

**Captain Cooke and Captain Spicer were mentioned in John White's journals as the two captains who accompanied him, along with a group of sailors, in his return to Roanoke Island.**

**Captain John Smith was a captain in the Royal Navy and was knighted by the Prince of Transylvania – so both titles I used in my writing actually apply – he was really short and****he did have an incredibly large ego (big enough to have been historically noted). Anthony Gosnoll was a knight and a part of the first expedition to Jamestown: I took his name off the list of people on the first voyage.**

**There is no Duke of London, but I think England totally would be the duke of his own capitol, even if his existence was a well-kept secret of the royal family. XD**

* * *

**To the Reviewers:**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favorited or put **_**The Lost Colonist**_**on story alert, I've never gotten this much of a response before, so this really means a lot to me! Unfortunately I will only be able to respond to the consistent reviewers (note, these will be responses made to all reviews up until this point).**

**Jade Silverwolf – You were the first one to review, and kept reviewing throughout the story's progression. That really means a lot, and I am so glad that you liked it!**

**Kitty's Muse – Yes, it made me incredibly sad that there were no fics mentioning Roanoke, so I decided to write one! The earliest colony in New Sweden was Fort Christina (it eventually became Wilmington, Delaware), founded in 1638, so I imagine that Sweden and Finland would not enter the picture until then, and England and France would probably first appear around 1639. I imagine that in between then, England would have made many ****(failed) attempts at finding the personification of the American Colonies, before finally being introduced to Alfred via Finland and Sweeden. Thank you so much for reviewing, and I am really glad you liked it!**

**Liberty Girl with the Firework – You have no idea how impressed I was when you said you did not even need the historic notes. I had to do a bunch of research for this story, and I think it is absolutely amazing that you already knew it all. I hope I got everything right.**

**PCOrigami – I am very glad you liked the story; I did not mean to make anyone unwell, but I did want make an impact on the readers, so forgive me for being proud that my writing affected you that much. In my head-canon, America and Canada first met during the French and Indian War/Seven Years' War, but I am not sure if I will be writing any fics about that in the near future.**

**Child of the Gypsies – Last but certainly not least. I am so happy you liked it, and I was grinning like a loon when I realized that you were my thirtieth reviewer, let me tell you.**


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